1. Festen (Steep Theatre) – Even those people I know whose idea of Chicago theater is traipsing through the Cadillac or the Ford Oriental for Broadway in Chicago touring productions were clamoring to get tickets for this sold-out production in the spring at Steep’s intimate storefront off the Berwyn Red Line station.  Jonathan Berry’s layered, atmospheric, and ultimately gut-wrenching Chicago premiere of the stage adaptation of the Danish film about the unraveling of family secrets and lies was breathtaking, with an unsurpassable performance (even better than Ulrich Thomsen’s in the film, in my opinion) by Kevin Stark as eldest son Christian, both catalyst and host of the filial Armageddon.  Read my original post.

2. Follies (Chicago Shakespeare Theatre) – Stephen Sondheim’s masterpiece about a reunion of aging showgirls is my favorite musical of all time and Gary Griffin’s revival is one of my favorite musical productions of the past couple of years.  Unlike the Broadway productions, full of distracting, well, Broadway-ness, this Chicago Shakespeare mounting was emotionally raw, discomfiting, unapologetically dark and pessimistic.  And boy did I love it! It also contained several surprising, unforgettable re-interpretations of classic Sondheim roles: Caroline O’Connor’s mesmerizing, battle-scarred Phyliss; Marilyn Bogetich’s unwaveringly furious Hattie belting out “Broadway Baby” as an anti-showstopper (which stopped the show anyway); and, most especially, the brilliant Hollis Resnick whose multi-layered, intricately characterized Carlotta encapsulated the profound themes of survival and tenacity of human nature that Sondheim wrote about.  Read my original post.

3. en route  (one time at a step like this at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre) –  Chicago Shakespeare was the theater scene’s MVP this year, not only bringing us local gems like Follies, but also invaluable international productions such as a World’s Stage offering from the Australian theater company one time at a step like this.  Chicago theater lovers were so lucky to have participated in this immersive experience, an indescribable hybrid of theater, performance art, books on tape, and walking tour that took them all over the Loop, since the group would be putting on a similar production for the prestigious 2012 London Cultural Olympiad.  It was an exhilarating experience, truly breaking down the barrier between audience member and theatrical content. Read my original post.

4. The Big Meal (American Theater Company) – On paper, Dan LeFranc’s searing, thought-provoking drama about the changes in American family life, values, and priorities through the years sounded like a Showtime TV movie.  But I loved going to the theater and having my preconceptions smashed.  This was theater of unrelenting honesty and poignancy, the best new work that premiered in the city this year, complemented by the stunningly fluid, cinematic direction from the excellent Dexter Bullard and the most pitch-perfect acting ensemble of the year, anchored by the too-scarce Lia Mortenson.  Read my original post.

5. Clybourne Park (Steppenwolf Theatre Company) – As my blog readers know, I am the President of Steppenwolf’s young professionals board, so I try not to comment on its shows too much to avoid being accused of partisanship.  But Steppenwolf’s production of Bruce Norris’ Pulitzer Prize winner would make partisans of everyone – great playwriting, both impressively cerebral and emotionally gut-punching, with a vivid, pointed look at American society’s racial tensions; masterful, even keeled direction from ensemble member Amy Morton; and top-of-their-A-game performances from some of the city’s acting royalty – John Judd, Cliff Chamberlain, Karen Aldridge, and Kirsten Fitzgerald.

6. Black Watch (National Theatre of Scotland at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre) –  This fiercely unflinching drama about Scottish soldiers in Iraq already took jaded, cynical New York City by storm several years ago, and I could see why. Gregory Burke’s writing was insightful and fearless, and as riveting as it already was, director John Tiffany’s stylized production that beautifully blended song, dance, video, marching, and theatrical flourishes took it out to the dramatic stratosphere. I’m sure the been-there seen-that New York theatergoers would have been smitten as well by the site-specific production that Black Watch received at the Broadway Armory, for years the site of Illinois National Guard training exercises, which gave the show additional, intangible heft.  Read my original post.

7. Sophocles:  Seven  Sickness (The Hypocrites) – My BFFs, so used to my wacky theatrical thrill-seeking, thought Sean Graney’s four hour adaptation of all of Sophocles’ existing dramas was totally up my alley.  But it was also up the alley of anyone who loved great storytelling, outsized performances, and directorial bungee-jumping.  This was truly one of the most thrilling shows of the year – challenges around the material and the running length overcame by a director and a sterling cast who treated their audience as smart, curious, and embracing of exceptional work.  Read my original post.

8. El Nogalar (Goodman Theatre and Teatro Vista) – I was perplexed by the tepid reaction received by Tanya Saracho’s resonant, contemporary play about immigrants returning to their hometown in Mexico now ruled with an iron hand by the drug cartels.  This was the kind of conversation-starting theater that dealt with important themes around identity, social violence, cross-border migration, and class structures that I felt people should be seeing (instead of, say, reading up on Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries). Cecilie Keenan’s unassuming direction let her terrific ensemble give some of the best performances of the year (with special mention to Yunuen Pardo as the pragmatic, survival-minded maid, Dunia).  Read my original post.

9. Pornography (Steep Theatre) – Steep followed-up Festen with another exceptional show, Simon Stephen’s series of monologues ostensibly about the 2005 London subway bombing, but which tackled broader questions around how safe a world could be when daily life was full of racism, sexual brutality, deception and moral ambivalence. Robin Witt’s simple staging gave Stephen’s words the space they needed to envelop the audience, and her bold cast, especially Kendra Thulin as a bitter corporate saboteur and Michael Salinas as a conniving job-seeker, gave them the unforgettable impact and immediacy they intended.  Read my original post.

10. Heddatron (Sideshow Theatre Company) – Entrancing, astounding, sometimes maddeningly flawed, Elizabeth Meriweather’s play about an Ypsalanti, Michigan housewife kidnapped by robots to perform Hedda Gabler in the middle of the Amazon jungle was the most idiosyncratic show of the year.  Sideshow’s production used robots, videos, and a rousingly jaw-dropping musical set-piece of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” performed by both mechanized and human beings alike to demonstrate the endless inventiveness and big-heart of Chicago’s storefront theater scene.  Read my original post.

 And the next five:

 Being Harold Pinter (Belarus Free Theatre at the Goodman Theater) – read my original post

A Twist of Water (Route 66 Theatre Company) – read my original post

Middletown (Steppenwolf Theater Company)

Passing Strange (Bailiwick Chicago) – read my original post

Mary (Goodman Theatre) – read my original post

OVERWEIGHT, directed by Steppenwolf ensemble member Yasen Peyankov, is a typical mix tape of Euro-trashy artsy-fartsyness and condescending incomprehensibility.  Ok, I get it, Austrian playwright Schwab is smarter than me, but he doesn’t have to make the point every five minutes through dense dialogue and puzzling (non) narrative. A group of misfits are sitting around in their corner bar knocking each other senseless with insults and belligerence while observing, jeering, and ultimately collectively doing several unspeakable things to a beautiful and wealthy young couple, who unfortunately wandered in to get a sense of the life of the underclass.  I guess there’s a whole point about European social inequalities and injustice, but this point is marred by both the obnoxious playwriting and the sensationalistic end of the first act. Peyankov assuredly creates a thoughtful air of decrepitude throughout the play, an interesting evocation of the problems of a supposedly socialist Europe which has incongruously massive social inequalities.  The cast is first rate, with special mentions to the wonderful, always riveting Nicole Weisner as an abused girlfriend who displays the sole moral backbone among the characters, conveying the haunting yet earthy qualities of Hannah Schygulla; Carolyn Hoerdemann, whose fine comic timing is mixed with a palpable wistfulness as the neighborhood hooker, so nicknamed because she will show the referred-to body part in exchange for coins for the jukebox; and Andy Hager who is creepy-funny as a pedophilic schoolteacher.  The cast is game and no-holds-barred, as is typical of a Trapdoor production, and I salute them for it.  I just wish they have better material to work with, and less bloody skeletons to gnaw on.

Sideshow’s The Ugly One is slight and wispy, though more palatable than OVERWEIGHT.  German playwright Mayenburg creates an intriguing fairy-tale about a really, really ugly man who gets some radical plastic surgery and turns into the most good looking man in the world. He’s so good looking, every guy starts getting the same surgery to look like him.  Mayenburg cleverly explores themes about our obsession with physical beauty, themes that have already been explored with more confidence, depth, and thoughtfulness, and less whimsy in films and TV shows like Nip/Tuck.  Mayenburg doesn’t really say anything new or insightful, and with an hour running time, I’m not sure he intended to.  Director Seth Bockley interestingly stages the fluff as a semi-farce to give it a little bit more gravitas, I presume, and he is ably abetted by the terrific Nina O’Keefe, who was also the fabulous heart of Sideshow’s previous show, Heddatron.  O’Keefe is hilarious, warm, and emotionally engaging in the dual roles of the guy’s wife and a lusty investor in his company who tries to bed him, and truly steals the show. Fred Wellisch and Nate Whelden playing multiple roles are a fine supporting cast.  Although Robert L. Oakes is watchable as Lette, the ugly one who becomes the really hot one (and looks the same before and after, a conceit of the show that implies we are always going to be the same person regardless of how we change physically), I think he is a little too passive for the farce-like approach to the material that Bockley adopts.  I wish Oakes’ Lette plays a little bit broader, with more boil and heat, than simmer.

OVERWEIGHT, unimportant: MISSHAPE – A European Supper has been extended until November 13 at Trapdoor Theatre, 1655 W. Cortland Ave.  The Ugly One is running until November 20 at Oracle Theater, 3809 N. Broadway.

Griffin’s achievement begins with staging the show on the thrust stage of Chicago Shakespeare instead of behind the proscenium arch, with the actors’ right smack in the audience’s face. This staging gives the play an immediacy and discomfiting voyeurism that are more similar to seeing, say, a Tracy Letts play in a storefront than seeing a musical in a big Broadway house.  Griffin’s vision is stunning – he gives the large Courtyard theater an intimacy that for me it has never had.  The staging lends itself to a more devastating effect for the already ache-filled “Losing My Mind”, but admittedly it poses some problems for the larger-scale ambitions of “Who’s That Woman” in which the energetic choreography of Alex Sanchez for the showgirls and the ghosts of their younger selves is drowned in clunky, crowded blocking.

Griffin’s brilliance, though, is most apparent in the unexpected interpretations of Sondheim’s characters and songs by a terrific, unforgettable cast.  Susan Moniz’s Sally, the unhappy housewife from Phoenix, is indelible: sad but grasping, sympathetic yet delusional, and truly believable as someone sinking into manic depression in which she will not be able to recover from.  And I love, love the way she performs “Losing My Mind”, a perfect song about unbearable loneliness: quiet and soft yet with layers that, if you pay attention closely enough, are frightening.  It’s an amazingly nuanced performance.

Australian actress Caroline O’Connor has the most difficult, complicated role – Phyliss, the showgirl turned socialite who finds out that a life of wealth and luxury is a life full of trade-offs and betrayals. And O’Connor is stunning – ferocious, wounded, acerbic, heartbroken.  Her sharp corners and hard edges sometimes peak underneath her couture dress, but so does her resignation and world-weariness (ably complemented by a smoke-and-whiskey-scarred throaty voice).  It’s a surprising interpretation since Phyliss is often played by patrician, otherworldly actors (Lee Remick, Blythe Danner, Donna Murphy, and Jan Maxwell in the current Broadway revival) whose innate delicacy underscores all the hurt and humiliation.  O’Connor isn’t delicate at all- and she’s taking prisoners, but that doesn’t diminish the heartache of her loveless marriage. She performs “Could I Leave You”, truly one of the “best of the best” Sondheim songs, imho, not as a complicated mix of recriminations against and pleading with her husband Ben, as other Phylisses do, but as a cool, calculated accounting of what she is owed. And she is owed bigtime. O’Connor nails this point down with a loud, jaw-dropping bang.  Even more jaw-dropping for me is her passionate, demanding take on “The Story of Lucy and Jessie”, with Sanchez’s choreography sexy-angry in the best way possible.  It’s a song I’m not particularly enamored of, but in O’Connor’s unforgettable rendition, I just can’t get the song, and the whole scene, out of my mind.

I can rapturously go on and on about O’Connor’s astounding, profoundly moving Phyliss but Griffin’s cast deliver unexpected interpretations of the other famous Sondheim songs.  The exceptional Marilyn Bogetich performs “Broadway Baby” not as some warm, nostalgic ode to hard work and ambition, as it’s usually performed, but rather as an angry, hostile, furiously regretful aria about failure and not being good enough.  Then there’s Hollis Resnick, as Carlotta, the showgirl who ended up with a career in movies and television.  She is dazzling beyond superlatives.  Her big number is “I’m Still Here”, that most famous anthem of survival and longevity, usually performed in a blowsy, jaded, bombastically diva-esque manner (check out Polly Bergen’s and Elaine Paige’s versions in the 2001 and 2011 Broadway revivals respectively on YouTube).  Resnick performs it in a riveting, unexpected way – slowly building on the tension, performing portions of the song as if she’s in self-assured conversation with the audience, and ending with confidence and bravado. Resnick’s Carlotta survived, is still here, because she knows how to adapt and move on, shrug off the failures and obstacles, pick herself up by the bootstraps and dust herself off, qualities that none of the other Follies girls seem to have.  This gal is battle-scarred, but she ain’t showing it to anyone.  And that’s why she sticks around.  Resnick creates a fascinating character study.  She is, to put it plainly, just brilliant.

I have some minor quibbles with the production:  Ben Stone’s second act number “Live, Laugh, Love” is staged, choreographed, and performed (by the otherwise excellent Brent Barrett) too similarly to Chicago’s “Razzle Dazzle”, which is distracting.  I also do not think Young Phyliss (Rachel Cantor) and Young Sally (L.R. Davidson) are fully-fleshed out and differentiated enough in performance (I keep on trying to figure out who’s who by height since Davidson is shorter than Cantor).  But these are minor quibbles indeed in a production that is fresh, insightful, and dare I say it, close to being definitive.

This Follies is unmissable.  It runs till November 8 at Chicago Shakespeare Theater, 800 E. Grand Ave.

Elling (Redtwist Theatre) –  Now I know why this play ran for only nine regular performances and 22 previews when it premiered on Broadway last year, despite a cast headlined by Brendan Fraser and True Blood’s Denis O’Hare.  Axel Hellstenius’ and Petter Naess’ theatrical adaptation of the 1996 novel and 2001 movie, which was a surprise Oscar nominee for best foreign-language film is, simply put, quite awful. I haven’t read the book nor seen the film, so I’m not really sure whether the problems lie in the source material or in the dramatic adaptation.  Two men are released from the Norwegian state mental institution to prove that they can live a “normal” life under the auspices of the government.  I’m not Norwegian, nor have I ever lived in Norway, so the whole set-up is quite perplexing to me –What drives these patients release from the mental institution? What’s in it for the government?  Seems like some kind of European social experiment that isn’t really clearly articulated in the text.  How are Elling and his best friend  Kjell Bjarne making a living?  They have subsidized housing but don’t seem to have any jobs.  What does living a “normal” life mean and what conditions will send them back to the institution they were released from?  Both seem to still be quirky and eccentric, and their government handler, Frank, pops in and out of scenes, but seems to have quite a vague relationship with the two.  The play’s tone also seems to flirt between sitcom naturalism and low-rent Sarah Ruhl whimsy, without really any apparent reason.  Steve Scott’s uneven direction doesn’t help clarify things – some scenes are played as farce with pratfalls and all, while others as sweet-silly bromantic comedy.   The main reason to see the show is the appealing stage presence and undeniable chemistry of Andrew Jessop as Elling (hilariously manic) and Peter Oyloe’s Kjell (good-naturedly boorish) the stars of Redtwist’s much superior The Pillowman from a couple of years back.   Jessop also serves as set designer and impressively configures the intimate black box theater for beds to become fireplaces and refrigerators to transform into urinals. I just wish these actors, two of the bright lights of the city’s storefront theater scene, had more worthy material to showcase their mettle. Elling runs until October 30 at 1044 W. Bryn Mawr.

Violet (Bailiwick Chicago) – Based on Doris Betts’ short story “The Ugliest Pilgrim”, this musical is about Violet, a young North Carolina woman with a huge scar on her face from a childhood accident, who is traveling to Tulsa, Oklahoma to see a preacher who she believes will heal her disfigurement.  And the story occurs during the early 60s in the midst of the initial rumblings of the Civil Rights movement. Caroline, or Change’s composer Jeanine Tesori has put together an intricate score, beautifully mixing rousing, gospel-like numbers with melancholy ballads that reflect the characters’ inner lives.  The cast, led by the extremely watchable duo of Harmony France as Violet and Courtney Crouse as the soldier she initially falls for, sings gorgeously and passionately, ably supported by a five person band. Some of the melodies are reminiscent of the musical theater masterpiece that is Caroline, and the performers tackle the complex songs with verve.  However, like Elling, the main problem I have with this show is Brian Crawley’s uninvolving, meandering book.  What seems to be on the surface an emotionally and politically-charged narrative is flat and unsatisfying.  The parallels between Violet’s self-discovery and the nation’s awakening to civil rights are not fully or vividly explored.  Her deepening attraction to the African-American soldier Flick isn’t consistently portrayed so the climax of the show feels rushed and dishonest.  I’m also very perplexed as well by director Elizabeth Margolius’ decision to have characters that appear in flashback scenes onstage all the time crumpled in the background, and for staging many of the musical numbers in static, Glee-like formations. For subject matter this potent, a listless production is a disservice.  Violet is at the Mercury Theater, 3745 N. Southport, until October 16.

Becky Shaw (A Red Orchid Theatre) – Although she doesn’t appear until the second scene of Gina Gionfriddo’s puzzling comedy about contemporary mores, and shows up pretty late in the last scene, thanks to the layered, carefully calibrated performance of Mierka Gierten-a riveting mix of menace, neediness, and heartbreak- the titular character dominates this show. Becky Shaw doesn’t get the showiest scenes or the spiciest, wittiest lines – those belong to Max, an emotional bully of a financial adviser, who is set up on the blind date from the ninth circle of Dante’s hell with Becky.  Gionfriddo has a great hand with dialogue, and pokes wicked fun at the prevalence of dishonesty and emotional and psychological blackmail in relationships of our 21^st century life.  However, I’m not really sure I totally get the points she makes about our contemporary First World culture’s values and emotional responses.  Maybe because I don’t think she makes them clearly or articulately. Damon Kiely’s direction, despite some really awkward scene transitions, is solid, but it’s the cast that makes this show a worthwhile night out, despite the weakness of the writing.  Gierten’s excellent portrayal is wonderfully matched by a quartet of terrific performances:  Lance Baker as a caustic, emotionally-fraught Max; Jen Engstrom as Max’s neurotic, self-involved half sister Susanna (another one of the divine Ms. Engstrom’s vividly outsized portraits); Dan Granata as Susanna’s amiable husband Andrew; and Susan Monts-Bologna as Susanna’s Southern dowager of a mother, a fascinating mix of venom and world-wearyness.  I am an ardent supporter of A Red Orchid Theater so I’m a little surprised that for a theater known for their outrageous, balls-out, audience-provoking play selection (uhmm, Blasted, anyone?), they’re opening this season with a play that’s innocuous and unassuming, the theatrical equivalent of filed and buffed manicured nails.  Becky Shaw is playing at 1531 N. Wells until November 6.

Nate and Margot reveal to their close friends Darcy and Leigh over dinner one night that they are planning to have a baby via donor sperm with Margot as the biological mother.  The donor, it turns out, is Nate and Leigh’s college buddy Jacob, who has remained single and has travelled the world as a Fulbright scholar and a peace-broker.  This piece of news creates a single-minded focus in Leigh to have a baby of her own with Jacob as the donor too, which of course creates all sorts of complications with Darcy, who doesn’t share the passion to bring a child into the world that Leigh has.  Gubbins intricately, provocatively frames the dilemmas of these couples:  the role and responsibility of the donor in parenting, the emotional and intellectual complexities of having a shared donor between the two couples, the emotional and psychic impact of child-rearing on the partner who isn’t  the biological mother, the logistics of who gets to be called “Mama” and “Mommy”- issues that heterosexual couples do not ever have to think about, much less resolve.  Gubbins adds an additional layer to the discourse which I feel requires a play of its own:  both couples have a more masculine partner (Darcy and Nate) and a more feminine partner (Leigh and Margot, both of whom are to be the biological mothers), and the play begins to, but doesn’t really fully explore, the way the “butch lesbian” persona is received by the 21st century world we live in.  I think this is an important issue that calls for a lot more discussion of, maybe in a longer play, especially since it forms the crux of one of the crucial monologues in the piece.  I also feel that the role of Jacob (appealingly played by Steve O’Connell) is a little hazy, and serves more as a conflict provider rather than a fully-fleshed out and integral character in the production, unlike that of Mark Ruffalo’s similar donor role in the film The Kids Are All Right, which tackles some of the same concerns but from different angles.  But it is a really exceptional script, and I’d take this play over the gazillion re-hashes of dead white men plays on other Chicago stages.

The ensemble is formidable:  Halena Kays’ easygoing Nate who is sincerely excited to be a parent is warm, funny, poignant; Park Krausen’s somewhat dippy Leigh who gains laser-sharp focus when it comes to becoming a mother is meticulously-shaded; and, especially, Rebekah Ward-Hays’ beautiful, sharp, aloof  Margot is riveting to watch – she makes you skeptical as to whether Margot is really into this motherhood thing, and if she isn’t, what’s her agenda (to keep her relationship with Nate on solid ground, despite the fact that she seems to be in control of it?  I don’t know, and I would have loved to see more stage time for the character and Hays).  I’ve seen Kelly Simpkins in several productions over the past few years and think she’s a terrific actress but I initially thought her Darcy was unsympathetic and grating.  Having thought about the play over the past week since I saw it, though, I think the cleverness and compassion of Simpkins performance and Gubbins writing is that Darcy really is the mirror to the conscience of the gays in the audience like me, who have always thought that having kids in a same-sex relationship is a no-no – Darcy reflects our defiance, our deep-seated ambivalence, our risk-aversion, our inadvertent cruelty, our, shall I say it?, loneliness.  It’s a terrific role and a sharply-thought out performance.

Joannie Schultz’s direction is solid and unfussy, letting the conflict and the dialogue draw the audiences in.  I love Chelsea Warren’s scenic design which realistically captures the affluent, unemcumbered lifestyle of that segment of upwardly-mobile Chicago gays.  But, ultimately, The Kid Thing is notable for bringing forward a very contemporary issue that has no easy answers, and that’s what I consider a truly meaningful night at the theater.

The Kid Thing is at Chicago Dramatists, 1105 W. Chicago Avenue, until October 16.

Graney’s brazen imagination and cultural savviness is on full display at Sophocles:  Seven Sicknesses.  Since these plays are full of people killing each other and mutilating themselves, why not set the entire show in a stark hospital with two wise-cracking, fashion-magazine-reading nurses (delightfully played by Sarah Jackson and Shannon Matesky) as the Greek chorus? Brilliant.  Because Sophocles’ tragedies come about mostly due to a singular flaw of human nature (Antigone’s pride, Elektra’s vengefulness, Oedipus’ incredulity), why not have the actors sing excerpts from Bruce Springsteen’s acclaimed early-80s album about the tragi-comic nature of day-to-day life, The River, newly-arranged by Music Director Kevin O’Donnell, to annotate and expand on the original text?  Inspired.  Why not include dialogue that is modern, colloquial, and plainspoken to bridge the audience-distancing effect of these ancient plays?  Terrific.  Why not embrace the outre in the material by having Jocasta commit suicide by drinking bleaching liquid or staging Ajax’s dream of killing his competitors as a sort of bloody, wacky Animal Farm?  Absolutely.  But I think Graney’s greatest achievement as writer-adapter-director is his ability to clearly, painstakingly highlight the significant, recurring themes of these plays over these four hours, some of them unique to the Greeks (the physical body as symbol and source of power, fatalism as a cultural world-view), others universal and relevant to us, the 21^st century citizens of a complex, chaotic, conflict-ridden world: the continuing definition and re-definition of homeland, the basis for exercising state power within and outside its borders, our inability to learn from our mistakes which allows, well, history to repeat itself.  The bloody and blind Oedipus who is willing to once again put his trust in Creon, the man who banished him, in order to come back to his beloved Thebes demonstrates the same inherently fatal flaw of human nature that many 21^st century US voters seem to possess in making another self-interested, zealous Texan a presidential front-runner.

Graney’s marvelous, brave, resilient cast, many of them playing multiple roles, is up to Graney’s game, displaying impressive range.  Hypocrites’ ensemble member Geoff Button, truly one of my all-time favorite performers in Chicago, is poignant as the compassionate Neoptolemus asked to trick Philoktetes to give up his powerful bow and quietly menacing as the vengeful Orestes.  Erin Barlow is heart-breakingly headstrong as Antigone and impeccably comedic as a Reese Witherspoon-like Chrysothemis.  The always spectacular Tien Doman gives a quite-over-the-top take on Dejanira, giving her the bitchy claws of a Bravo Real Housewife and the lonely anger of a Lars von Trier heroine.  Jeff Trainor is just plain terrific as Oedipus, thrillingly mixing naivete, young CEO bluster, and delusion.

In our age of Politico.com soundbytes, Twitter headlines, and general restlessness and instantaneous gratification, it’s hard to recommend a night out in the theater that will involve more than two and a half hours (including an intermission).  Well, I don’t really care, and at the risk of being pilloried by some of my attention-deficient blog readers, I am heartily, enthusiastically, unreservedly recommending Sophocles:  Seven Sicknesses.  It’s a play that a theater-loving city such as Chicago should embrace unconditionally.

I’m ready to call a plague down on your condo building if you don’t rush out to see Sophocles:  Seven Sicknesses at the Chopin basement theater, 1543 W. Division St.  Ok, so if that threat isn’t enough, well remember there is a complimentary, and very yummy, vegan dinner courtesy of Sultan’s Market during the first intermission!

Putting It Together, devised by Sondheim and the show’s original director, Julia McKenzie, has a plot as flimsy as a linen summer dress at the Hamptons in the middle of August – two couples, one older and married, the other younger and un-, plus a ambiguous male observer, are at a cocktail party that slowly, tensely goes awry as the romantic entanglements of the protagonists unfold.  But who cares about plot in a revue which includes some of the most deliriously perfect Sondheim songs that talk about love and relationships from Company, A Little Night Music, Merrily We Roll Along, Follies, and his Academy Award winning work on the film Dick Tracy?  Director Brenda Didier wisely showcases the glorious songs through unfussy stage blocking and fast-moving scene transitions.  She is ably abetted by Musical Director Austin Cook and his three person band (ingeniously seated onstage and acting as if they are guests at the cocktail party as well), playing Sondheim’s incomparable melodies with clear-eyed understanding and minimal flourish (and with lots of gusto for the Act II opener “Back in Business” from Dick Tracy). 

Since this is a revue, it’s the musical performances that should necessarily shine, and Didier’s five person cast is, in a word, dazzling.  Chicago musical theater veterans McKinley Carter and Adam Pelty as the older couple are empathetic, mature, credible as battle-scarred spouses, and sing gorgeously, wondrously.  Carter’s rendition of the cruel, bitter, agonizing “Could I Leave You?” from Follies which closes the first act is particularly outstanding – a multi-faceted musical theater aria from a woman scorned, but who still loves her unworthy husband deeply and unconditionally. You can see the rollercoaster of emotions on Carter’s face as she gets through this particularly tough song.  Aja Goes as one half of the younger couple makes a pretty impressive Chicago theater debut – sexy, smoldering, seductive, manipulative, but also a little confounding in her performance of “Sooner or Later”, which evokes too closely Madonna’s performance of the song during the 1991 Academy Awards.  I think Goes’ “Not Getting Married Today”, the most difficult among Sondheim’s compositions, imho, is technically impressive, so kudos to her, but I kinda missed some of the riveting blend of neurosis and real anxiety in the best performances of this song I’ve seen in the past (for example, Alice Ripley’s incomparable version in the 2003 Kennedy Center production of Company).

The most astounding member of the cast though for me is Michael Reckling who gives a fresh, charismatic performance as Goes’ boyfriend.  I have never seen him in a show before, but, boy, does he have buckets of stage presence and an emotionally complex singing voice.  I love his performance of “Marry Me A Little” from Company which is both captivating and somewhat untrustworthy- that this good-looking boy, despite what he professes to you right now, will, at some point, break your heart.  I think that intellectual shading, that ability to create a fully-fleshed character in a three-minute Sondheim song is the quality that differentiates the best Sondheim interpreters (Ripley, Barbara Cook, Bernadette Peters, Michael Cerveris, John Barrowman) from, well, the rest of the people who attempt to sing Sondheim and do him justice (Hmm…Catherine Zeta-Jones? Some performances in recent, unnamed Sondheim productions in Chicago?).  And then there is Alex Weisman, a true rising superstar of Chicago theater.  After bowling me over in his Jeff-winning turn in The History Boys and his most recent role in the divisive Mary, Weisman conquers musical theater with a vigorous, infectious, showy turn as the ambivalent and ambiguous Observer (who seems to have a little crush on Reckling’s character – or does he?), sort of a combination The Glee Project contestant, All About Eve-like ingénue, and a musical Truman Capote. He is terrific in “Invocations and Instructions to the Audience” (from The Frogs) which opens the show, and Sidetrack Showtunes campy (and I mean that as a compliment) in “Everybody Ought to Have a Maid” (from A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to the Forum).

I think if you come to Putting It Together to enjoy Sondheim songs performed lushly and passionately, you’d have a grand, gay, old night out on the theater town.  The show contains the pitfalls of a revue – the context in which the song was originally sung has somewhat changed (for example, Company’s “Being Alive” is an internal hymn to embracing your need for someone to love, not a song of reconciliation; “Unworthy of Your Love” is the obsessive-stalker song in Assassins, not a song to get engaged by), and some songs feel they’re out of place (“It’s Hot Up Here” from Sunday in the Park with George isn’t really a song of romance, although I’m sure it fits the revue’s conceit in which the loft has become quite a hothouse of romantic complications).  But this is top-notch entertainment, a show to enthusiastically recommend to your discerning friends and neighbors.

Stephen Sondheim’s Putting It Together is at Theatre Wit, 1229 W. Belmont, until October 16.  It’s a wonderful start to the Chicago fall theater season.

So this Porgy and Bess doesn’t feel, move, dance, talk, or sing like an opera, the medium it’s been traditionally performed in since it’s seminal revival in 1976 as a Houston Grand Opera production that eventually transferred to Broadway. Paulus has cut the running time to slightly more than two hours from over three; co-adapters Parks and Diedre Murray have transformed some of the recitatives into spoken dialogue and interpolated new ones to bridge scenes and give a little bit more color to the characters and the Catfish Row milieu; set designer Riccardo Hernandez’s Catfish Row is more evocative and representational than grandiosely authentic; choreographer Ronald K. Brown has created some dance numbers that is more Alvin Ailey than Busby Berkeley (including a rousing “Oh, I Can’t Sit Down”); William David Brohn’s and Christopher Jahnke’s orchestrations demonstrate a dazzling, impressive gamut of musical styles (from a haunting contemporary jazz rendition of “There’s a Boat That’s Leaving Soon” to the inclusion of slightly jarring pop music-ish chords that seem to be channeling Glee and Stephen Schwartz in “I Loves You, Porgy”).  So what if this Porgy and Bess is closer in sensibility and performance to Les Miserables than to Tosca? Who cares? It’s accessible, riveting, engaging, thrilling, resonant, contemporary – Paulus’ and Parks’ admirable objectives in the updating of the libretto as can be inferred from the interview that set off Sondheim’s curdmudgeonly ranting.  It also showcases the Gershwins’ unmatchable score beautifully and perfectly, the seventeen person orchestra under the baton of conductor Sheilah Walker playing with heartfelt emotion and clear-eyed understanding.

This Porgy and Bess also has two impeccable performances:  Norm Lewis’ dignified and heart-wrenching Porgy and, most especially, Audra McDonald’s pitch-perfect, iconic, breathtakingly multi-faceted Bess. I love Lewis’ performance – it’s very restrained and tender, gorgeously sung, especially in an energetic, vivacious “I Got Plenty of Nothing”, which I think in this production is more apparently a love song to life infused with finally meeting a soul mate than an anthem to carefree living as its normally performed in other productions.  But it’ is really McDonald who is unforgettable.  Her entrance, doped-up in a sexy red dress and heels, is jaw-dropping.  She sings spectaculary.  More importantly, McDonald gives Bess a vivid inner life, with every gesture, every facial expression, every inflection reflective of a child-woman who has been scarred and abused all her life, who finally finds a person who loves her and takes her for what she is, and not because of what she can give.  It is a great actress’ performance, not an opera singer’s (when she finally puts down her defenses and embraces Porgy’s love in “Bess, You Is My Woman Now”, the transition from brittle hurt to joyousness is a whole narrative in itself), and this is what, ultimately, differentiates this production from any other production of the show.

The supporting cast is excellent as well, with props to David Alan Grier’s watchably slimy Sporting Life and Bryonha Marie Parnham’s strong-willed, unsentimental, earthy Serena. If I have a quibble with this production, it is that I really expected to see (or hear) more of the “back stories” in the characters that Parks and Paulus talked about in that infamous interview.  I still don’t understand completely Crown’s power over the denizens of Catfish Row and over Bess in particular (why is he cock of the walk of this community?), or the reason for Sporting Life’s reputation (what shenanigans is he up to in New York when that boat sails and how did he become that way?).  Also, with the seemingly greater emphasis on Bess, both due to the libretto updates and McDonald’s brilliance, the show ending with Porgy singing “I’m on My Way” to run after Bess in New York City is somewhat out-of-place (hey if Paulus and Parks are updating the show anyway, an ending with Bess front and center would have been more appropriate, imho).

Paulus and the producers issued a muted non-response to Sondheim’s criticism; McDonald tweeted after the “controversy” broke that “Here’s what I think…to quote the greatest musical theater composer of our time… “Art isn’t easy”.  And it isn’t, and Sondheim should know that perfectly well.  Art also should be judged on its own merit, after it is viewed and experienced, not on innuendoes, inferences, predispositions, grapevine-mongering.  And Sondheim should know that perfectly well too.  By criticizing The Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess in such a public way before anyone has seen it, before it was even performed, Sondheim acted less like the “greatest musical theater composer of our time”, and more like, uhmm, Perez Hilton.  And that’s disappointing.

The Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess plays at the Loeb Drama Center, American Repertory Theater, 64 Brattle Street, Cambridge, MA until October 2.  It is still supposed to be on-track for a Broadway transfer in December, despite a tepid review from The New York Times’ Ben Brantley.

Follies (Chicago Shakespeare Theater)- It’s not just one of my favorite Sondheim musicals of all time, it’s one of my favorite musicals ever.  One of the country’s foremost Sondheim interpreters, Gary Griffin, directs the opening production of Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, a new mounting of this wonderful, luscious, complicated, maddening, unforgettable piece of musical theater.  I’m a little perturbed that of the four leads only Susan Moniz, as Sally Durant, a role that has been been played by theatrical legends from Barbara Cook to Bernadette Peters, has substantial Chicago theater credits (I think the theater’s New York actor-itis has run rampant more than usual in this production), but to be able to hear the fantastic Hollis Resnik, as Carlotta, belt out my own personal anthem of survival and tenacity, “I’m Still Here”, will be worth the price of admission.  October 4-November 6 at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater’s Courtyard Theater.

Clybourne Park (Steppenwolf  Theatre)-  Full disclosure:  I am president of the junior board of Steppenwolf and a member of the theater’s Board of Trustees.  But I still strongly feel that Bruce Norris’ Clybourne Park, winner of this year’s Pulitzer Prize for Drama, will be the provocative spark which will give life and invigorating energy to what is shaping up as an anemic fall theater season.  Taking off from Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun (the play begins in 1959 with the white family packing up their Woodlawn house in the Chicago Southside after having sold it to the Youngers), Norris explores the changing urban landscape, attitudes, and concerns over half a century.  Ensemble member Amy Morton directs a WOW cast which includes Cliff Chamberlain, Karen Aldridge, John Judd, and Ensemble member James Vincent Meredith.  September 8-November 6, Steppenwolf’s Downstairs Theatre.

Sophocles:  Seven Sickness (The Hypocrites) -  So who else in this town other than Sean Graney would have the meteor-sized cojones to write and direct a four hour adaptation of Sophocles’ seven existing plays and throw in a complimentary vegetarian buffet dinnet to boot?  Uhmm, no one.  I love, love, love the best of Graney’s work, and feel the opposite with an equal level of passion for the ones that don’t work.  If he is as brilliant with his new go-around with Sophocles (I was on the fence with his previous Oedipus) as he was with Christopher Marlowe and Charles Ludlam, I will gladly stay for four more hours, with or without the buffet.  September 7-October 23, Chopin Theatre.

Elling (Redtwist Theatre) – Elling was an Oscar-nominated Norwegian comedy about two friends dealing with their respective mental problems.  Yep, you read it right, “comedy”.  Its Broadway adaptation, starring Brendan Fraser and Denis O’Hare, closed after 9 performances last year.  I guess the tourists from OK City didn’t really dig a comedy about mental patients.  But I trust Redtwist Theatre, one of this city’s foremost, and literally and metaphorically in-your-face storefront theaters, will give this work it’s due (another Scandinavian film-turned-Broadway flop, Festen, thrived in a similar intimate storefront space this spring at Steep Theatre).   Goodman Theatre Associate Producer will direct the stars of my favorite Redtwist show to date, The Pillowman’s Andrew Jessop and Peter Oyloe, whose indescribable bromantic-competitive chemistry is always fascinating to watch. September 24-October 30, Redtwist Theatre.

The Kid Thing (About Face Theatre and Chicago Dramatists) – Chicago playwright Sarah Gubbins’ world premiere play about two gay couples and a potential donor is being co-presented by two of the city’s leading theaters and directed by Joannie Schultz.  Themes around how to define family and parenting in this decade are so resonant and so urgent that this play is a must-see for those who seek thoughtfulness and immediacy in their theater night out – folks who are probably sick of dead white male playwrights and Sarah Ruhl.  September 1-October 16, Chicago Dramatists.

I’m currently reading Jonathan Franzen’s brilliant novel Freedom (a topic suitable for another blog post) and in it he says “Words made everything less safe, words had no limits, words made their own world.”  I’m struck how apt this sentence is to what Stephen achieves in Pornography.  The play is an intermissionless series of monologues (and two duologues) of random Londoners, as well as one of the suicide bombers, of their lives in the days leading up to July 7, 2005, when the bombings took place.  It is quite the rogue’s gallery of lonely, tragically-flawed characters, and we’re not even talking about the suicide bomber himself, who comes off blindly, outrageously angry, but also human and yearning.  The episodes involve an executive assistant depressed by her home life who is driven to commit corporate sabotage at her company; a brother and sister who finally succumb to the simmering sexual tension between them; a teenage boy bullied in school and in love with his teacher who performs an act of violence; a newly-divorced professor who makes a sexual advance on his former male student; a grandmother addicted to online porn who tries to overcome her desolation by begging for a piece of grilled chicken from a stranger’s house.  Stephen’s monologues are stirring, thought-provoking, breathless, vivid, sharp-elbowed.  His words paint painful, terrifying episodes of loneliness, of desperation, of moral ambivalence, of racism, so much so that they come off as random acts of horror in domestic lives that presage the larger, unspeakable horror in the public realm of the events of July 7.  I think Stephen is telling us that amidst large-scale horror such as this act of terrorism can be these tiny, individualistic horrors of daily life, which can be, to the people who live them, as devastating.  With his words in Pornography, Stephen makes our worlds, our own selves less safe, because these ordinary people we are watching with extraordinarily cruel lives can be potentially us.

It is a terrific play, but since it is comprised mainly of separate episodes of one or two actors speaking, with no narrative or protagonists and antagonists, I can imagine Pornography to be trying, and potentially tiresome, to the ADD-afflicted theatergoer.  I’d hope though that the outstanding cast Steep assembled to give life to Stephen’s dangerous words, all of them giving performances full of thoughtful layers, impressive verve, and heartfelt emotion, will serve as the way into the difficult text for audiences looking for a more traditional theatergoing experience.  The Pornography ensemble is one of the best I’ve seen so far this year (on the par with Steep’s extraordinary production of Festen), but special mention must go to the exceptional Kendra Thulin who plays the executive assistant ignored by her husband, stressed out by her boss, and disgusted with her life with slow-simmering anger and vindictiveness, and to Michael Salinas, ambiguously seductive and manipulative at the same time as the former student meeting up with his university professor (Salinas is so terrific in this play, all coyness and subtleties, that you forget he played the brutish younger brother in Festen, a 160 degree turn from this performance.  I’m very impressed).  Robin Witt’s direction is strong, straightforward,  and unemotional while video designer Mike Tutaj complements the text with a collage of confrontational, disturbingly juxtaposed images (extracted from porn, violence, old TV shows, documentaries, etc.). Pornography will keep you unsettled long after you leave the theater.

Pornography is running at Steep Theatre Company, 1115 W. Berwyn Ave., until September 3.